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Wednesday, July 7, 2010

"When my brother and I were little kids, we had surprisingly limited exposure to the magical world of rock. That’s probably because our folks had waited for years to have kids so their tastes were a little out of step with the times. In fact, they were raised on Big Band music — Glen Miller, Stan Kenton, Artie Shaw, Tommy Dorsey — and they passed this on to us. It’s what they knew; along with a bunch of genuinely weird kitschy comedy stuff that is so obscure I won’t even name-drop it here, this is what we were raised on.

My mom had worked for a radio station while my dad was on grad school. Like any good employee, she scored plenty of free swag. Mostly, though, she took home random oddities ranging from the sweet jazz of the Ray Bryant Trio to the proto “Hee-Haw” yucks of Homer & Jethro and the more refined Stan Freberg. Okay, so maybe I reneged on the name dropping moratorium. It’s all for a good cause, though, I promise.

All of this was on vinyl, LPs and singles. In fact, my parents even had a treasure trove of primo 78rpm discs; I think about slipping a few into my suitcase every time I go home — I mean, it’s not like anyone else in my family will ever want to listen to these things. The only problem is that I don’t even have a turntable capable of spinning a 78 — I don’t even know whether I know anyone who does.

But I do have a turntable — two, in fact. One is an ancient analog device and the other is one of those neat vinyl-to-digital thingies. I need the latter because I overcompensated for my lack of rock by going off the rails in music consumption when I was in high school. I’d already been massively into The Beatles starting in grade school, but everything shifted into high gear when a new music store opened near my neighborhood. Among the other media, the store stocked used vinyl — lots and lots of used vinyl. The sweet deal about this was that the store was about as big as a Brooklyn apartment (translation: not). They couldn’t store all of the stuff they bought from people, so they had a box of free records by the door.

Free. Records. And they refilled it almost daily. They had to, because I and my brother would clean it out every time we went in to buy stuff; thanks to our lame teenage jobs, this was a regular thing. The amazing part is what they dumped: first pressings of the Stooges and the MC5 on Elektra; original red label Decca early Stones albums in mono; The Kinks entire Warner/Reprise catalog, again in mono. Don’t get me wrong, we brought home plenty of junk along with the jewels. Still, finding that stuff totally changed my musical life for the better — in my hometown, nobody would have turned me on to that kind of music in a thousand years. Pathetically, I still have the majority of the stuff we picked up back then, both good and bad — almost 40 crates full of some of the greatest sounds ever produced, along with some of the worst. Those crates are one of the prime reasons I try to relocate as seldom as is humanly possible."—Joe Caparo, Bass